


All The World

by idlesuperstar



Series: The Life And Death Of Sugar Candy [5]
Category: Life and Death of Colonel Blimp (1943), Powell and Pressburger - Fandom
Genre: F/M, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-04-09
Updated: 2013-04-09
Packaged: 2017-12-08 00:42:43
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 12,112
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/754971
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/idlesuperstar/pseuds/idlesuperstar
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>An overwhelming sense of companionship swept over him, that in the midst of a foreign country he should have found such a man as Theo.</p>
            </blockquote>





	All The World

**Author's Note:**

> Set the morning after - and (the flashbacks) the evening of - **A Stroll With Theo**.
> 
> Series notes [here](http://archiveofourown.org/series/36980)
> 
> Theo's English has improved a lot over the weeks, and he translates himself for Clive's benefit, but there are still footnote translations for anything that he doesn't quite manage.

Edith would be along soon, thought Clive, folding his shirt distractedly. He almost wished that she wouldn’t. That he could have a brief moment to himself, here in his room, to - to remember, one last time, before he had to put on his game face. Oh, to think - he would never see this room again. But Edith had said she would come to help him pack, and if Edith said she would do a thing, you could consider it done. It was decent of her, although how she imagined he’d got on all these years packing his own kitbag he didn’t know. He was folding things automatically, as he had many times before; too tired to really think about what he was doing. Oh, but he was being unkind to Edith; she was helping because she wanted to, and it was dear of her, even if she sometimes seemed to think him a helpless boy. Heaven help the man she married! He would need to be made of stern stuff not to buckle under her enthusiasm. Clive could stand up to her alright. But sometimes it was easier to let her get along with things in her own way, so long as it turned out alright in the end. 

He’d often taken a similar attitude in his dealings with women, though the last twenty four hours had pushed him beyond his usual limits. Frau Von Kalteneck was another woman with very definite ideas of what a husband should be. Clive smiled ruefully to himself, forgetting his tiredness for a moment, thinking back to his visit to her stables the day before. Was it really only yesterday? She had made it clear that the horses were not the only creatures she had a sharp eye for. Clive couldn’t help thinking that she had looked at _him_ as if she wanted to test the strength of his fetlock. He had said as much to Theo later that same evening.

 

* * * * * * * 

 

 “Honestly old fellow, the glint in her eye! She was a step away from checking my teeth!” He had illustrated his words with a pantomime, aware as he did that he was playing up to amuse his friend. Theo had laughed the genuine laugh that turned his face - still with its impressive bandage - into almost nothing but teeth and moustache. 

“Clive, mein Freund, she has always been so! Zumindest mit Ihnen...with _you._ Haben you not seen?”1

“You’re potty old man! I can’t see what she’d want with me, after having you on her arm.” He laughed, deflecting. It was better, really, to play the self-effacing fool, than to risk Theo guessing the truth. Of course he had seen. The woman had practically flung herself at him that first day. Clive almost admired her - she was a splendid woman in many ways, and a spirited change from the girls back home - but it made things more tricky. She had redoubled her efforts at the stables, though, and Clive had found himself having to be more direct than he was used to. English girls still waited for the man to make a move. Mariel, well, it had quickly become obvious that she was a woman of - experience. Would it be improper to discuss it with Theo? Mariel had made it quite clear that she and Theo had parted as friends. He glanced at Theo, filling their glasses again, and could not quite parse the expression on his face. He looked almost - concerned. But really, there was nothing to be concerned about. Theo caught his gaze, and his expression changed.  

“Immer das Selbe, Clive. Always you - ” he broke off, frustrated “how you say - knock yourself? Nicht. Do not. Any woman would be - glücklich - lucky, to be with you.”2

“Don’t mind me, old thing.” Clive replied, almost embarrassed by the compliment. 

“Willst du - do you - ” Theo paused to take a gulp of his drink, “Ich dachte - thought - you and she - ” he gestured vaguely, and Clive had a fleeting pang, wishing that Theo could know how little he cared for women’s admiration and how much he cared for his. But that was the Kirschwasser talking. He must be glad that Theo had no suspicion of his baser feelings.  

“She’s a delightful lady” he said, somewhat effusive now that the danger was past “but she’s not the one for me.” That was nothing but the truth, after all, if not the whole truth. He looked at his friend then, and for a moment he was not the cheery Theo he had come to know, but the solemn stranger that he had faced down in the gymnasium all those weeks ago. As though Clive was merely a problem to be overcome. And then Theo quirked a brow at him, much as he had that frosty morning, and there was his friend again, real, known, _Theo,_ slightly questioning and also, Clive thought, as tipsy as himself.  

 

* * * * * * * 

 

Clive glanced at the clock; Edith was uncharacteristically late. No matter, doubtless she had one of a myriad of womanly things to attend to. Modern as she was, she still had an alarming array of hats and gloves.  Just as he thought this she hurried through the open door, and suddenly all was hustle and bustle and disarray. 

“Clive, oh I _am_ sorry, I simply lost track of the time. Are you very behind? Here, let me take those - ” and she was rearranging his case before he could even say good morning. 

“Edith, you know I _am_ perfectly capable of packing my own case. I’ve done it thousands of times.” Crossing the room to her he was momentarily distracted by his moustache in the mirror. He traced a finger lightly over his scar, lost for a moment in a memory so vivid it was almost painful. To think - but then he caught Edith’s reflection over his shoulder. She was standing still, staring at a shirt as though it held the secrets of the universe. He realised she had barely looked at him since she came in. 

“All right, old thing?” he asked, turning to her. He hoped so. He was so tired, and did not have much energy to jolly her along too. 

“Yes, of course, only Clive what a _mess_ this is - ” and she turned away again, rifling through his case and disarraying his neatly packed clothes. Honestly! Women. Still, whatever it was, she would tell him in her own time. There was plenty of it on the journey home. It would serve as a distraction. He could always sort his case out when she went for her things. Oh, now she was trying to pack the handkerchiefs that he had already put aside. 

“Half a mo, those things belong to Theo, put them with the alarm clock.” Theo’s handkerchiefs. His heart thumped. He had thought of keeping one, a silly little memento, but feared it was a horribly sentimental thing to do. Oh, Edith! Perhaps it would be best to do this without her. 

“How’s your own packing going?”

“Not fast.”

“Well, you better hurry up then.” Really! And he was the one she treated like a child.

“I’ll be alright.” There was a distinct sniffle there. Confound the girl, she was many things, but she was never a sniffler. 

“Don’t be so sure. We’ve only got half an hour if we’re going to call at the Embassy first. I can manage here. Come on, stop mooning about!”

“I’m not mooning about!” she shouted, and flung his collar case onto the bed. What on earth? 

“Keep your hair on!” and that was somehow the wrong thing to say. Her face crumpled and she turned away from him in tears. Bewildered, he grasped her arms and turned her to face him. 

“I say old girl, what’s up?” These were tears, genuine tears. Clive for a moment was lost at the idea of Edith in tears, and thought helplessly that Theo would be much more use in this situation. He understood these mysteries much better than Clive. Still, Theo was not here, and Edith was his friend. “Edith! I say - Edith! What’s the matter?” A thought struck him, silly though it might be. “It’s not because I didn’t call for you yesterday is it? You know, Frau Von Kalteneck left last night for the South.”   

“Did she?” Edith sobbed out. 

“But you knew she was going!”

“I’d forgotten - ”

Was this was the nub of it? Had the women become such friends? He didn’t think so. Was Edith feeling left out? Or jealous? Surely she knew Clive better than that? 

“I can’t help it if you don’t like horses, can I? We went to see her riding stables, she’s got some fine beasts. But they’re too fat!” 

Oh, it had been an enjoyable afternoon, despite some tricky moments. Mariel was a practical woman. Much easier than this was turning out to be.  

“I say, old girl. Do stop crying. Suppose somebody comes in?” Would that work? Surely she would see what a fuss she was making over nothing. 

“Nobody will come in - ” and she turned away from him, to the window. It was a gloriously sunny  day. Why did messes happen on glorious days? He was struggling to maintain his equilibrium, and felt an overwhelming desire to be home again, where everything was familiar and easy, and where Edith would be crying to her sister and not to him. But, oh! He did not really want to leave, now. Still - the ticket was bought. His leave was used up, as he had always known it would be. He steeled himself again to jolly her out of whatever it was. It was his duty. 

“Look! I promise to take you out the first night we’re back in London. Her Majesty’s Theatre, ‘The Last Of The Dandies’. They say it’s an awfully good show.”

“The - paper - said - ”

“What paper? What do you mean? Is that what’s making you cry?”

“The paper said - there’s a play at Her Majesty’s - called ‘Ulysses’ -” and, Lord, she was even more upset. Clive was at his wit’s end, and shamefully relieved when Nurse Erna stepped into the room, announcing “Oberleutnant Kretschmar-Schuldorff returns your books, Mr Candy. He is on his way to see you.” Oh, his heart jolted at that. 

Edith had turned away at her arrival, and now was rushing past him saying “I must hurry!” 

“You’d better. I’ll meet you in the hall.” he called after her, distractedly, and she was gone. Nurse Erna had passed him the books, and he frowned at them, more confused than ever by Edith’s distress. Still, he supposed they would puzzle it out on the train. He felt a sudden disloyal desire to be travelling alone,  or - better still - with Theo, just the two of them and miles of track ahead! God, what joy that would be! Theo who would happily drink with him, and tell him stories in broken German about the towns they would travel through, and who - despite his Beethoven and his Schubert - would love to be taken to a music hall to drink beer and sing rowdily along, red-faced and happy. He realised he was staring at the books still; forced himself to push the daydream from his mind.

“What am I going to do with them? I don’t read German. Miss Hunter got them for me.”

“You can present them to our library.”

“Clever Nurse Erna. But I must write my name in them! So Clive Candy’s name will always live in a corner at Stolpchensee,” and he flourished a little bow for her, knowing it would please her. How easy to please Nurse Erna! Would that all women were the same. And then, from outside the window, Theo’s familiar whistled signal. His heart lurched at the sound. The Mignon would forever make him think of this; of all the times that Theo had arrived so over these happy, unlooked for weeks. He had found something precious and rare in this little hospital, and what an awful wrench it was to let it go. Oh, but he had sworn to himself that he would not give in to sentiment. He must hold fast, especially with Nurse Erna in the room. Weak, suddenly, he sat on the bed with the books, and - oh! - there was Theo at the window, his handsome face breaking into a grin, asking permission to come in. As if he need ask! When had Clive ever refused?

“Come in me old horse, me old steeplechaser!” he could not help but smile, thinking that Mariel would understand. And, god, what a glorious creature Theo was, despite his bandage; poised for a moment on the sill, beaming at Clive as if there were nothing but joy in the world. It was a sight to cherish, to take back to England. Then he was springing into the room, oh the strong stretch of his thigh, the lovely trim lines of his uniform; buttoned - for once - to the neck. Clive had always been proud to wear his uniform, but he couldn’t help feel a little envious of Theo’s. The boots were definitely better. 

 

* * * * * * *

 

How on earth had they ended up comparing boots, the previous evening? It was not as if Clive even had his with him. Oh, they had been comparing visitors, and it had descended into him ribbing Theo about his fellow officers. There was a proud unit! Theo had never deliberately swanked in his uniform, but the way he held himself - there was some pride there too. And his buttons - even in the hospital - were never less than perfectly polished. Clive felt it was something a little small in himself that he felt the absence of his uniform in Theo’s presence. As though their uniforms were all they were! Even so, he had grudgingly conceded that the German boots were finer, and Theo had not succeeded in hiding his triumph completely.   

It had long grown dark, the only light coming from the lanterns strung along the veranda. They were sitting outside Clive’s window as a small concession to Nurse Erna and her chiding about smoking. She would be even more unhappy when she saw they had left the ashtrays inside. But they were reluctant to sit indoors on such a mild night when it was their last together. Theo had been silent for some time, his face half in shadow, the flare of his cigarette the only evidence he was still awake. Clive had become vaguely aware that their earlier high spirits had softened into something quieter, much as the light had faded. Clive thought - even as he realised that the Kirschwasser had done its work on him as well - that he really was remarkably content. He caught a faint scent of flowers on the evening breeze, though he could not say what. Something delicate and sweet. The warmth of Theo’s arm against his though, and the familiar scent of his pomade. These were more vibrant. An overwhelming sense of companionship swept over him then, that in the midst of a foreign country he should have found such a man as Theo. 

“Theo - ” he began, and Theo tilted his head towards him, his eyes still visible in the lantern’s glow, fond and amused. Was that how Theo always was, or was it just how he looked at Clive? Clive faltered, then, uncharacteristically unsure of himself. 

“Was ist, mein Freund?” 3 Theo prompted. He had become more German as the evening wore on, as he often did, but Clive could at least parse the meaning of that. 

“Just - ” he paused again. Lord, why had it become so difficult to  speak? He never usually had such problems. Hang it all, he could have said it easily earlier, when they were laughing about Frau Von Kalteneck. It was much harder to speak of such things deliberately, but he felt an urge, in these last few hours together, to tell Theo a little of what he had come to mean to him. He looked away into the gardens, thinking it would help to not look at Theo’s face. 

“Just that I’m terribly glad that we duelled, old thing. I can’t tell you how grand it has been to get to know you all these weeks, and I can’t bear to think that we might have never met, never become friends.” He risked a glance at Theo then, realising with dismay that his meaning had not hit the mark. Theo looked puzzled, and  - but, no, it must be the light - Clive thought he looked sad for a moment. “You - Sie,  me - ich,  duel,  good - _gut”_ he pantomimed out. Theo looked alarmed then, there was no other word for it. “No, no!” Clive hurriedly said, “no - nein - not duel _now!”_ Oh, this had become harder still. “Friends, yes? Ja? You, me, friends?” and he grabbed Theo’s arm, willing him to understand. Theo looked at him, face still unsure, and Clive threw caution to the wind and took Theo’s hands in his. “Friends! You, me, always?” Theo looked at Clive’s earnest face, and down at their clasped hands, and back to Clive’s face, his own puzzlement clearing, but his features oddly solemn.

“Clive, lieber Freund, ja. You, me, Freunde, für immer.  Friends always.” 4

“Freunde, für immer!” Clive repeated back to him, heart swelling. If he never learned another word of German, he would commit these to heart. He grinned at Theo then, and Theo grinned back, all teeth and moustache, and how had it ever been difficult to say anything to his dear friend? Clive realised then that he was still holding Theo’s hands, but before he could say anything, Theo pulled away. Had Clive overstepped in some way? But no, Theo grasped him by the elbows and hauled him to his rather unsteady feet, and then Clive found himself enveloped in the warmest, fiercest, most _German_ embrace he had ever known. Clive was no stranger to friendly embraces; after all he was a soldier! Many a fine evening had ended with one or more of his mess mates a little the worse for wear, and who wasn’t enthusiastic in such circumstances. But Theo! Theo was a hearty fellow, of course, but always he retained a soldier’s sense of himself. And yet here he was, warm and solid and real, the smell of him so familiar; pomade, and cigarettes, and something that must be the warmth of his skin beneath his uniform; holding onto Clive as if he were the last good thing in the world, his breath warm on Clive’s neck and that infernal bandage brushing Clive’s ear. And there was not the excuse of wrestling, or Clive’s shoulder. This was something direct and pure. Clive instinctively held him just as fiercely, heart beating fast, and felt an ease with himself and Theo and the world that he had never known he was missing, as if everything had suddenly clicked into place, and the puzzle of the universe been solved. Were he more sober, he would have chided himself for such fanciful thoughts. But he was not more sober, and Theo did not let go, and so he clung more tightly and felt Theo steady and true up against him, and it was the happiest, most complete moment of his life. 

 

* * * * * * *

 

And now here was Theo, bouncing slightly on the windowsill, looking for all the world like an excited  boy expecting his birthday present. He was so utterly lovely with his shining, handsome face, and Clive’s unruly heart swelled once more at the sight of him. Clive fought the urge to stride across and gather him close. He knew they must make their formal goodbyes. This was the way it must be. And then Theo asked where Edith was, as if she were hiding in the wardrobe. 

“Packing” Clive said, desperately concentrating on writing in his books, shamefully glad of the excuse to remain seated. 

“Packing?” Theo jumped down off the windowsill. Well, Clive supposed, he had not had time this morning to say his goodbyes to her. Oh, he must not let his mind wander. He looked up at Theo.  

“Well of course. Und Sie? How much longer Sie?”

“Eine week. Or - ” Theo held his fingers up like a child learning to count. 

“Two?” Clive felt a pang of sorrow for Theo; he would be terribly lonely here without them. Without Clive. They had not even talked of it, last night. 

“Two week. Ja.” Theo was fidgeting now, and his bounciness had left him. Honestly, was everyone determined to make today as difficult as possible? “Clive, Edith come here, translate - ” 

“I can translate - ” Nurse Erna offered, but Theo was having none of it. Clive could see his train leaving without him at this rate. Much as he didn’t want to catch it, he knew he must. He really did not have the fortitude for this today. 

“Don’t interrupt Edith, she’ll never be ready.”  

“Shall I fetch Miss Hunter?” asked Nurse Erna. And before Clive could stop him, Theo had sent her on her mission. 

“ Ich müssen call at Embassy, old man” he told Theo “get my ticket _nach_ London.” He looked at Theo desperately, uncertain how to behave in these new and uncharted waters, and fell back on an old standby. “Drink?” He could do with one himself. Theo was probably a little hungover. Clive could certainly feel a headache coming on. But Theo refused a drink, curse him. He was making this terribly difficult. Had they not agreed to a quick parting, sworn friends?Theo knew how little time Clive had. Why make things harder?Clive - for the second time that morning - felt at his wit’s end. “All right! What the blazes is up with everybody?”

“Clive.” Theo’s face was as troubled as he had ever seen it, and he seemed strangely distant. Clive finally realised why he had noticed Theo’s tunic. He looked as if he were heading into battle. All his buttons shining, his throat covered. But he had lost a button, the night before. Had he sat on his bed this morning  mending his uniform? Putting himself back together? Clive had a terrible creeping sense of unease. What was this all about? 

“You and I. Friends. Yes or no?”

Clive looked at him in bemusement. “Well of course we’re friends!” he cried, standing up. Edith’s tears earlier had been confusing, but he expected to be confused by women. This was _Theo_. They alway understood each other. Was Theo regretting what he had said, last night? Surely not. _Freunde für immer,_ that’s what they had sworn. 

“We must _duell_ , again.” 

Clive couldn’t believe it. Could not actually understand what was happening. It was as if Theo were reading from a script, and no-one had told Clive his lines. Theo only really agreed with duelling if it were over a woman. His chivalrous nature. But _this_ \- this made no sense. 

“Where's your dictionary, old chap? You must have got two pages stuck together.”

Theo looked at him as if he were steeling himself to deliver terrible news. Clive held his breath, resolute. 

“I - love. Your - “ he broke off, frustrated, chastising himself in German. Clive’s stomach lurched. He stared at Theo, frozen. What was this? And why, after all his fuss, was Theo not waiting for Edith, if it were so important that he be understood? Was it something that she should not hear? But he had wanted her here! What he had to say - why would he need Edith to be here? Clive felt sure that his treacherous heart was beating out of his chest, thoughts careering wildly from one possibility to another. Surely Theo would notice. Theo did not notice, too bound up in his own struggle. He was trying again.  

“ Your - Miss Hunter.” Theo ground out, oddly formal, as if the words were stuck in his throat. 

“Say that again.” Clive’s voice was remarkably steady, he thought, as if from a great distance. This was not what Theo had come here to say. It couldn’t be. 

“I love your Miss Hunter.” As if it were easier to say the second time. Theo looked so regretful that Clive felt a pang of sorrow for him, even as he felt the bottom drop out of his stomach. This was it, then. But, oh! this was sudden, cruelly so. Clive had not been prepared for this. And Edith? What did Edith feel? Did she know? Had she made her decision? He would not let this happen if Edith was unsure. He found himself clambering onto the bed before he realised it, staring down at Theo who was still looking stricken. 

“You’re cuckoo.” he said to him, aware as he did that his feelings must be all over his face. 

“Nein. Ich nein cuckoo. You cuckoo. Because Miss Hunter love me.” Clive had never seen Theo look at him like that before, not even before the duel. But of course not. Before the duel he had been just another  duty to deal with. Now he was - were they still? - _Freunde für immer_ \- and could be cut more easily with a word than a sabre. Clive could not bear it, even in his own pain, to see that uncertainty on Theo’s face. Theo was not a cruel man, and Clive could not be cruel either. And, well, if Edith _loved_ Theo - he faltered at that thought - then who was he to stand in her way? He wanted her to be happy. Someone should come out of this mess with some happiness. 

He clambered down from the bed, grasping Theo’s hand and shaking it heartily “Congratulations!” 

Theo looked so disconcerted that Clive found it suddenly easy to act, to be full of cheer and bluster, even as the familiar feel of Theo’s hand in his sent a shiver through him. “When did it happen? Why don’t I know about it?” Theo had not spoken of Edith’s feelings last night. Had he been trying to, before - god, no he must not think of it. Had Theo spoken to Edith this morning? How had there been time? Or had Theo been sparing his feelings to the last? 

“No _duell_?” Theo seemed blindsided. What had he expected? Was he trying to give Clive an honourable way out? Did he think that Clive had some claim on Edith, that needed sabres to settle it? Surely  after everything that had happened he must know that was not the case. Oh would Clive ever get through this day? He tried to clear his poor head. He was an Englishman and a soldier. No-one understood duty better. He would play his part. 

“Duel? I - ich fight anyone who tries to stop it. _Now_ will you have a drink?”

“ _Double_ drink!” said Theo, relief breaking out onto his face, and smiling once again. It was something, at least, to know that Theo had been so afraid of hurting him. It was a small thing, for Clive to have put the smile back on his face, but it was a gift within his power to give. He could give another. 

“But you know, old boy, Edith was never my fiancée.”

“Fiancée!” Theo gesticulated ruefully and rattled off something in German. 

“No, not my fiancée. Lovely girl, sweet girl! But not my fiancée.” And that was all the truth, and Clive could say it easily, because Edith _was_ lovely, and he wanted her happiness almost more than his own. He poured a generous measure for them both, and here they were again, clinking glasses and smiling at each other, a mere hands’ breadth apart, so close that Clive could feel Theo’s warmth, could smell his pomade, and for a moment all was right with the world, as if the morning had been a dream, and he had yet to wake up. 

 

* * * * * * * 

 

The jarring sound of the curfew bell had surprised them both. Clive had pulled away from Theo before he even realised what the bell meant. Theo grasped Clive’s shoulders, the expression on his face turning from shock to one of mischief.

“Clive! Die Glocke! Muss ich gehen?”5

“You must go?” Clive asked, trying to understand his meaning. “Go? Yes? No?” Theo didn’t look like someone who wanted to go. He looked like a naughty boy asking to stay up just a little longer. 

“Nein, nein - ich frage dich. Ask you - muss ich gehen? _Must_ I?” 6

Clive understood at once. Go? When the bottle was not yet empty? And there was mischief to be had in duping the nurses? Suddenly they had indeed become two naughty children, taking arms against a sea of troubles. Clive was not, in that moment, entirely sure that the quotation was quite apt, but he felt a fierce sense of himself and Theo against the world, even if the world in this case was merely Matron and the strict regulations of a German hospital. Hastily, and not without a little scuffling, they clambered back into the room, bottle and glasses clinking, and shut the window. Theo hurriedly drew the curtains as Clive turned up the small lamp by the bed. 

“Ich muss - ” Theo hissed just as Clive whispered “Hide yourself!” He hurriedly stripped his shirt off before scrambling under the bedclothes. Theo froze in indecision, glasses and bottle still in his hands, as the clack of  Matron’s shoes sounded from the corridor outside. 

“Quick! Under the bed!” Clive whispered, valiantly trying to keep his countenance, “Unter!” gesturing wildly. There was a scuffling sound, a clink of glass, a muffled curse and then silence. Clive pulled the covers up to his chin and wished vainly that he had had time to remove his shoes. In a flash of inspiration, he lit a cigarette from the bedside table and started hastily smoking it. 

A click, and the door opened to reveal the stern face of Matron. “Herr Candy! Again! Mit einer Zigarette! Keine Zigaretten im Bett!”7  

Clive pulled a suitably regretful face and stubbed out the cigarette. “A thousand apologies, my dear Matron! You are as always a beacon of sense in a world of chaos! Consider me duly chastised!” He smiled what he hoped was his most charming smile. She flapped her hand dismissively at him as she said deliberately “Gute _Nacht_ , Herr Candy!” but there was no hiding the smile on her face. Another little performance of the naive but charming Herr Candy for his German audience, Clive thought, rather pleased with himself. A shove from beneath brought him back to himself. Theo! 

“Kann ich rauskommen?” 8 came the sarcastic query. The bottle of Kirschwasser appeared from under the bed, and Clive set it safely on the bedside table before grasping Theo’s hand and hauling him out. Theo stumbled gracelessly to his feet, handed Clive the glasses, and dusted himself down, grumbling as he did. Clive put the glasses down and began slapping at Theo’s legs in a less than helpful way. 

“You _are_ in a state old fellow! I must say you don’t look quite as spiffy in your uniform now!” 

Theo eyed him sharply. The words may have escaped him but the glee on Clive’s face was more than obvious. He slapped Clive’s hand away and then they were scrapping like boys, albeit tipsy ones. Theo was playing dirty, one hand bunched in the back of Clive’s trousers, holding him too close for Clive to get a decent swing in. Clive grabbed at whatever he could of Theo; his sleeve, the warm stretch of his thigh, aware of a jumble of hot breath and the itch of wool and Theo’s  breathless laughter and his knuckles pressed hard against the hot skin of Clive’s back. It was over so quickly that he barely had time to process the sensations. It ended with two broken glasses, a lost button, and disgracefully muddy boot marks on the bedlinen. Theo collapsed onto the bed beside Clive, panting slightly and eyeing his hanging button thread in dismay. 

Clive took a well earned drink from the bottle before passing it over. “Quits, old man? A valiant fight. I say! You’d best take your boots off or there’ll be even more hell to pay in the morning!” slapping helpfully at Theo’s nearest leg. 

“Meine Stiefel! Ach, my friend, it is ein Trick! Du - you steal!” 9 but after a hearty swig he divested himself of both boots and tunic and - having arranged the pillows to his liking - settled back comfortably to light a cigarette. Clive kicked his own shoes off, and set about trying to smooth his hair down. He lay back with the bottle, heart thumping, and closed his eyes for a moment, letting his breathing calm. Now he could feel the glorious warmth of Theo where he was pressed up against his side on the small bed; the heat of his arm through the thin cotton of his shirt, the lesser heat of his thigh. Were he more sober he would think about cataloguing these precise details; hoarding the sensations for future moments. But he could only concentrate on calming himself, on not giving himself away. He realised he had almost drifted into sleep, the bottle rolling from his lax hand when a light touch on his lip startled him into opening his eyes. Theo was propped on an elbow, leaning over him, studying his scar with a serious look on his face, fingertip lightly tracing his mark. 

“Tut es weh? Painful?” 10 he asked, gently. 

Painful, no, Christ it was not _painful_. Clive had always thought that once healed, scars lost feeling. That was certainly the case with his shoulder. This was not like his shoulder. This was the strangest sensation. Almost ticklish, yet it raised goose pimples on his arms. 

“No. No, not painful. Odd.” The movement brought Theo’s fingertip into contact with his upper lip,  yet the goose pimples did not go away.  

“Odd? Schlecht? Ah - bad?” Theo was still touching the scar, and Clive lay there as if trapped, trapped by the lightest of touches. Christ, Theo could not know what he was doing. 

“Just odd. Tickly. And - ” Clive struggled for words to describe the feeling. He couldn’t demonstrate on Theo’s scar, if it were a scar, hidden under bandages. He reached a tentative hand to Theo’s face, and lightly touched a finger to Theo’s moustache. “Does that tickle?”

“Was ist ‘tickle’?” Theo asked, quietly, and it seemed to Clive that instead of a light touch, Theo’s finger was stroking more firmly now. 

“All - shivery - ” breathed Clive, and lifted his bare arm to show Theo the goose pimples. 

“Dann, ja - yes” Theo replied, and Clive could see, where Theo had rolled his shirtsleeves up, that he had goose pimples too. Perhaps, he thought wildly, it was the moustache. He had never had a moustache. Perhaps this happened when you grew a moustache. Theo’s moustache was certainly one of the finest he had seen. He found he was still touching it lightly, and Theo did not seem to mind. But the nurse had touched his moustache many times when changing his bandages, and it had never felt like this. 

“Clive, Ich -” Theo was looking at him now, not at his scar but directly into his eyes, and it seemed that there was barely any air between them, and even though Theo’s touch was still light on his lip, Clive felt it as if it were setting his skin alight. He could feel the warmth coming off Theo’s body, and the familiar smell of him was sharper now, closer. Theo’s eyes were so grey in the lamplight, and Clive thought, stupidly, that he had never seen such grey eyes, that it must be a German trait, and what was it Theo was trying to say?

“ - I - Ich muss dir etwas sagen - must say -” 11 and this was so unlike Theo, to be so hesitant. He could not always find the right word, that was true, but he was never so tentative. 

“Go on, Theo. You can tell me anything. Say - _alles_ \- ” surely Theo knew that? He was looking into Clive’s eyes now so searchingly, as if he could read Clive’s thoughts. And if he could! Would he still look so fondly at Clive? Clive did not dare hope. He gently moved his fingertip from Theo’s lip to touch his cheek; brought a shaking hand up to cup his face, trying to reassure him. 

“Oh, Clive -” Theo laid two fingers against Clive’s lips softly, as if Clive had been about to speak. “Ich - you -”  and then suddenly he froze, alert, and there was the faint clack of shoes in the distance. “Das Licht!” 12 he hissed, clamping his hand over Clive’s mouth, though Clive was frozen too, staring at him. Theo had such a look of panic on his face as he flung out a hand to turn off the lamp, sprawling heavily across Clive’s chest as he did so. His other hand was still clamped hard on Clive’s mouth, and Clive could feel Theo’s heart beating furiously over his own. They lay stock still in the dark, listening to the Matron’s footsteps come nearer and nearer until they passed and faded away again. 

Silence. Utter silence, and no light, and the bowstring tautness of Theo’s body across him. Theo’s hand was hot and slightly sweaty on his mouth. Clive had been in foxholes in his time, but never had he been so aware of another man, never had the heavy press of another’s body on his like this. And, Christ, if Theo moved his thigh even a little he would know _everything_. Would feel the unmistakable hardness of Clive’s cock through his trousers. Clive was half-terrified, half-thrilled. This was more than he could ever have dared hope, even if it meant destruction. It felt as though there was not a point on his body that was not touching Theo’s; the sharp pain where Theo’s hipbone dug into his side; the firm press of his thigh; the buttons on his shirt digging into Clive’s bare chest. It was as if the sudden darkness had heightened his senses. And then - like a man felled by a sniper - Theo slumped. He took his hand from Clive’s mouth and dropped the weight of his head to Clive’s shoulder, burying his face in Clive’s neck like an exhausted child. 

“Clive - ” and his voice was quiet, lips muffled in the hot skin of Clive’s neck. He lifted his head again and sighed as if the world were ending. “Clive - ” and Clive’s heart - that unsteady drum - thumped wildly and he thought _Now. Now he will say it._ He was terrified. Terrified and vitally alive, like the moment before a charge. He wished he could see the grey of Theo’s eyes. He could feel Theo shift as he lifted himself up “Clive - Ich muss heiraten - you understand? _Marry_. I must - marry.” and then his weight was gone, and the bed jolted as he rolled over. And Clive felt all the empty places on his body, and all the empty air around him, and a terribly empty place where he thought his heart had been. 

 

* * * * * * *

 

The door to Edith’s room. Another frozen moment, Clive felt, before the world changed again; like Theo’s face on the veranda last night, like Theo’s face at the window that morning.  It had only been minutes ago, and yet it felt like hours. This was going to be the longest day of his life. Then, with a glance between them, they burst through the doors like a perfectly drilled regiment. In perfect tandem they each swept up one of Edith’s hats and crowned the other. 

  “Edith my child! I feel like a proud father!” He would bluster through this, he thought, if it killed him. He poured their drinks. Edith looked almost as bewildered as Theo had earlier.

“Do you, Clive? Why?”

“I have to give you away, don’t I?” he said, handing round the glasses.

“How did you find out?”

My best friend, he thought, blindsided for a moment by the awfulness of it all. My best friend told me, because you couldn’t bring yourself to. Christ, he must pull himself together. 

“A toast!” he pronounced, steeling himself. “This to the happiness of my fiancée who was never my fiancée” and that was nothing but the truth “and of the man who tried to kill me before he was introduced to me.” And if that was all the truth he could utter, well that was for the best, wasn’t it? “Prost!”

He looked at Edith as they drank, and there, there was his answer. The tears of earlier were forgotten, and there was such happiness on her face. She was quite, quite beautiful. He could not, in that moment, look at Theo. 

“May I kiss the bride?” he asked. 

“Why ask?” laughed Theo “I did not ask!”

Oh, _god_. It was truly real. He couldn’t bear it. Was that what they had been doing, when he was at the stables, out of the way? No, he thought bitterly, Theo would not have to ask. And here I am, in a girl’s silly hat, having to ask to kiss another man’s - _fiancée_.One look at Edith’s face, though, dispelled that monstrous self-pity. He kissed her gently, and with undisguised fondness. She drew away and looked - Clive could not quite read her face. Disappointed? What had she expected? Had she - like Theo - expected a duel? Did she want Clive to lay claim to her? Had she and Theo discussed it? Had they planned how to - how to _handle_ him? And now, oh god, Theo’s arm protective, possessive even, round Edith. Jealousy flared hot and sharp at the sight. He wanted to push them apart. What a terrible thing to think.  

“Goodbye Edith old girl. I hope we’ll - meet again - sometime -” and suddenly he felt an immense sadness that this would be his lot now. He would be the on the outside, looking in. Theo and Edith would have their life together, and he would not be privy to it. Dear Lord. He must pull himself together. He was the proud father. It was the last little role he would play in this place, and he would do it well. 

“Now look here you son of a gun. You won’t understand a word of what I’m going to say - but I came to Berlin to find a rat and I found two of the grandest people I ever met. I leave to you, you Prussian stiff-neck, this girl in trust; and if you don’t take care of her I’ll raise the whole of England against you! The Navy will steam up your stinking Stolpchensee! I shall lead the Army down Unter den Linden, and we’ll - ” he faltered, unable to carry on. Theo was standing there with his arm around Edith and his eyes were fond, as fond as they had been the previous evening. Theo’s eyes would always be fond. It was just that he would not see them every day any more. 

“Clive - ” and oh! his poor heart lurched again. The possibilities there had been, when Theo had said his name last night. “My English is not very much. But my friendship for you is - very much.” And yes, this was how it needed to be, for Edith’s sake. But also, there, in that shared little joke of theirs, Clive thought he could hear the other words Theo was not saying. _Freunde für immer, Clive. Friends always._

 

* * * * * * *

 

There had been something reassuringly familiar about it, Clive had thought. Not the awful hollowness in his stomach. But the sound of another man’s breathing in the dark. It was the sound of the barracks at night, or - earlier still - the dorms at school. There had always been someone awake in the dorms. There was no shame - in the darkest part of the night - in lying awake. No shame in muffled sobs, or other more furtive sounds. Clive felt rather like crying now, and wondered what Theo would say if he did. Theo’s breathing sounded unsteady as it was. He was shifting on the bed, and the mattress dipped as if Theo were turning towards him again. And then there was Theo’s hand, warm and sure on his arm. 

“Verzeih mir- forgive - me, Clive. Ich wolle nicht - not want - ” 13 he stopped, and Clive held his breath, every stumbling word making his stomach lurch, “ - Ich wolte - I wanted to say - ” Theo faltered, his voice low and somehow sad, “it is only - I am Dreißig- how is it - _thirty_? - you know? Und die Leute - people - sie reden - they _talk_ , Verstehst du? Understand?” 

Even through the muddle of his thoughts, and the Kirschwasser, and his thumping heart, Clive felt a rare clarity. Yes, he understood. He had understood for some years now. It was not enough to be a soldier, and a cracking shot. One must secure the future of the Empire in other ways too. That was the duty of a soldier. Marriage. Children. One’s desires rarely came into it. Was - Christ, was Theo telling him that he knew this too, had thought about it? Had _had_ to think about it? His heart lurched. He felt on a knife-edge. He realised from the grip on his arm that Theo was still waiting for a reply. 

“Yes,” he said, trying to sort through Theo’s words. He reached blindly and clasped his hand over Theo’s in the dark. “I had thought that Edith - ” Was it ungentlemanly to talk of her? He was hardly bandying her name about the barracks. It was just he and Theo in the small quiet dark of his bed. He flushed at that. 

“Edith?” Theo asked, grip tightening. “Wass Edith?”

“Oh, nothing, really.”

 “Du - liebst sie?” He stopped, and Clive wished that he could see his face. “ You - love her? Edith? Hast du deshalb  - why you  - said no, to Mariel?”

“Oh - ” Clive choked out, and god, what a question, from Theo. No, he wanted to say. No, you stupid man. It’s you I love. He dared not, even now, even in the safe dark. 

“Clive?” Theo’s voice was rough. Clive could barely concentrate, could feel the tension in Theo’s body, pressed hot against his side, his hand still gripping tightly on his arm. Christ. He must reply. He shuddered a breath, collecting himself.

“She’s - she’s the first girl I’ve met that I would want to marry. You know? If one _mussen_?”

Theo was silent for a moment, and Clive feared he had said too much. Yet had not said enough. 

“Ja.” Theo said. “Ich verstehe. Yes. Ich dachte - I think - also.”14 Theo paused, and all Clive could hear was his unsteady breathing, terribly loud in the dark. 

“But - ” Clive did not know how to say it. How to say - it’s not what I _want_. 

“Ja?” Theo asked softly.

“I would - I would want her to be happy.” Clive said, feeling like a coward.   

“Ja, happy.” Theo lapsed into silence, grip slackening, and Clive thought about risking a cigarette. He desperately wanted one.  But he didn’t want to disturb the fragile peace that had descended. 

“Clive - ” and again! Clive’s heart kicked hard. Would this happen whenever Theo said his name? Theo would succeed where the Boers had failed. Theo shifted again and though Clive could still not see his face in the dark, he fancied that he could detect a new determination in Theo’s voice. “Clive, we said _Freunde_   _für_ _immer_ , nein?”

“Yes. Yes. Freunde für immer.” How long ago that seemed! The bed dipped again and Theo’s hand was on his bare chest, firm and warm over his skittering heart. He was more used to Theo’s touch, now, after a fortnight of working on his shoulder, but this was not that impartial touch, not here in the close dark; and he could feel his heart quicken recklessly under Theo’s hand. Christ, this was going to kill him.

“You feel, I think - “ Theo broke off, hesitant again. “You feel - wie ich - as I - _Freunde für immer_. Not as andere - _other_ \- friends?” and he was smoothing his palm over Clive’s chest as if he could not stop himself. “Etwas mehr, - _more_?”  15 he breathed, unsteady, his hand firm and hot. Christ, yes, _more_. More, for Theo, than anyone, than the world. The world could go hang, because here, _here_ was all the world. Clive reached a shaking hand out in the dark, tentatively seeking out Theo’s face, and there it was; the warmth of his neck under Clive’s palm; the fierce strength of his jaw under Clive’s thumb. Theo was smiling, Clive could feel it as he brought up his other arm to embrace him, to pull Theo down hard against himself, to clasp firmly at the back of Theo’s head and whisper, finally, “Yes, ja, I feel as you do - ” hot and breathless into Theo’s ear. And Theo, Theo choked out something that could have been a laugh, could have been a sob, and clung to him fiercely with his whole body; his thundering heart; his strong arms; oh Christ the feel of it! Moving now, sliding firm thighs apart to bracket Clive’s. Oh! Clive’s entire body felt as if he had been sleepwalking in it until now, and Theo - Theo was lifting his head, and Clive held him tighter, but Theo was only moving, moving as if he would die if he stayed still; thighs flexing; arms taut against Clive’s body. Then Clive felt the tickle of moustache, and Theo’s breath hot on his face, and Theo’s fingers blindly searching, skittering over cheek and moustache and lip and then - oh - _oh_ \- Theo’s mouth was on his, hot and sweet with Kirschwasser, Theo was kissing him as if it were the most natural thing in the world. And it was, it was. It was honest and right and delirious. Clive kissed Theo, kissed him and kissed him, and the world fell away, until nothing was in it but themselves, and the heat of them, and the truth in the kiss. 

 

* * * * * * 

 

Peace, finally, thought Clive, as the porter closed the carriage door. Oh for a batman, or a valet; someone to deal with all the little annoyances. Someone to deal with _people_. He was exhausted, gritty-eyed, grimy beneath his clothes, and aware that he should eat something, despite the hollow ache in his gut. Certainly he had been in worse spots in South Africa, but the thought of the dining car, and exchanging pleasantries with others - he would ask the porter in a moment if he could have something sent along. 

He sank into his seat, gazing out at the platform as the whistle blew and the train pulled away. On time, of course. This time yesterday he had been with Mariel at her stables, politely untangling himself from her machinations. It seemed distant and ridiculous now. How the world had turned since then! And turned him with it. He had expected to be sitting across from Edith in the dining car, arguing fondly with her over anything from the German idea of breakfast to these outrageous Suffragist women. And to have taken his leave from Theo with a hearty handshake and a swearing of loyalty and nothing more. That was how the world should have been, and yet here he was. 

This was - he realised - the first time he had been alone for over twenty-four hours. How odd. And how grateful he was for it. He was too tired to feel much other than an awful kind of deadness. 

He let his eyes close, unaware of the scenery. He was so very tired. It was hardly a surprise, for he had barely slept. Oh! He must not think of it. But how hard it was not to. How difficult it had been to look at Theo as they parted - with his fond eyes and his arm round Edith like a betrayal - and not see the other Theo, _his_ Theo, warm and close in his bed. Clive was too tired to keep it at bay. Just here, he thought, I shall think of it here, in this carriage. I shall allow myself that luxury. And then I shall get off this train, and close the carriage door, and that will be an end of it.

 

* * * * * * * 

 

Clive had woken, dazed. He had been dozing. He had no idea of the time. The room was still dark. Gingerly, he reached out and fumbled for the lamp, turning it up just enough to see the clock by. Five. Five! He cursed himself for falling asleep. How many tedious nights in Jordaan Siding had he stayed awake, and yet here he had frittered precious time away. His mouth was dry and tasted of stale cigarettes; he was sticky and sweaty and uncomfortably hot, and his right arm had gone to sleep. And yet - and he knew he was being ridiculously sentimental -  none of it really mattered, because Theo was dead asleep on his arm.

He was aware of the smell of his own sweat, but could not bring himself to care. He could smell the sharpness of Theo’s sweat too, and the mess of their spunk. He wanted to burrow into Theo’s skin and savour it, this rare new part of him. Something for himself alone. Fanciful! He knew he was smiling, unable to contain his happiness, even as he shifted, awkward, trying to rescue his useless arm without disturbing Theo’s sleep. What politeness! He _wanted_ to disturb Theo! He wanted them awake, and together, and the whole day to lie in bed. Damn his arm! At least it wasn’t his bad shoulder. His struggles _had_ disturbed Theo.  That or the light. He could not be sorry for it. Theo was moving, muscles shifting along the planes of his back. Clive brought his left hand across to smooth over the lovely warm skin of Theo’s shoulder-blades. Oh, to be always touching Theo’s warm skin. 

“Wie spät ist es?” 16 Theo mumbled into Clive’s shoulder. Then, more aware, his arm warm and strong, sweeping over Clive’s stomach, his chest, to hug him close. “Clive? Time?”

“Oh. Early yet. Five. Funf.”

“Ich wollte nicht einschlafen. 17 I did not want to sleep.” This still into the close heat of Clive’s neck. “Es tut mir Leid. Sorry. For sleeping.”

Clive was warmed ridiculously by this, by Theo feeling as he had. But his arm. Oh dear. He shifted experimentally.

“My arm, old man. It’s asleep. Can you move? Oh - ” and the joy in him bubbled up and over suddenly “ - only I don’t _want_ you to move. But I can’t feel my arm!” 

Theo raised his head to smile at Clive. Oh. That smile would warm him for life. 

“Yes, Ich denke. I - not want - also. But – du brauchst - you will need your arm!” and _that_ was a filthy little smile on his face. Well, Clive had known that Theo was not an innocent, even before last night. Theo heaved himself up, bedclothes slipping down around him as he clambered over Clive to sit astride his thighs. He should look ridiculous, with his bandage and his proud Prussian moustache and nothing else, but he didn’t, he didn’t. He looked glorious; naked and sleep rumpled, a bright flush blooming across his chest. What a sight! What a marvellous thing, to see him like this. To have the freedom to look openly, to see him grinning, almost bashful at Clive’s obvious regard. To linger his gaze over all the places he’d grasped at, desperate, in the dark. The lovely weight of him, the beautiful lines of his body. Clive cursed his dead arm - tingling now and about to become painful - that he couldn’t seize Theo with both hands. He settled for gripping Theo’s warm thigh with his left hand. Oh the strength there, the lovely smooth firmness of him, the rasp of hair under his palm. How wonderful to be so matched in strength! He laughed, thinking of their wrestling. He had been right, so right.

“Wass?” Theo asked, smiling, even as his hands were strong on Clive’s shoulders, his left one massaging painful life back into Clive’s arm. And Theo’s face! Clive was sure his own wore the same look. 

“Nothing. Just happy.” Clive said, revelling in the freedom to say it. “I wish - I wish we could stay here all day.” 

“Ach, Clive. Wenn wir - if we - had - Zeit - _time_. Um der Welt zu sagen - say to the world _\- come back tomorrow_. Oder nächste Woche. Oder  - _never_.”  18

“I know, old man. I know. Let the world go hang! Ow!” and that was awful, his arm coming to life. Not very soldierly, to quail at pins-and-needles. “No, keep at it, it’ll pass.” He found he was stroking his hand up and down Theo’s thigh. How could he not? He was hot everywhere they touched. What glory in this! What leisurely joy! He was not an innocent either, of course; there had been boys at school and he’d been in the army for nearly a decade; it may have become more furtive but there was always a way. Pleasant memories all, but hurried, and often with the fear of getting caught. And - of course this was the real difference - never with someone he cared for as he cared for Theo. What a gift! What an impossible, rare gift! His arm was fine now, and he shook Theo’s hand off to push himself up on his elbows. 

“Kiss me,” he said, looking up at Theo, smiling at Theo’s heated look. What a picture they must make! Theo, lean and strong, flushed and aroused above him, and himself, spread out like a proud offering, dishevelled and happy and fierce. 

Theo grinned and leaned towards him and then oh! they were kissing again, and it was as if they’d never slept. How quickly the feel of Theo’s lips on his had become familiar. Familiar, but glorious still. Clive fell back onto the bed, bringing Theo with him, leisured and desperate at the same time, wanting not a hair’s breadth between them. Theo was everywhere, it seemed; hands hot on his face, in his hair; thighs rasping against his own; the smooth endless plane of his back under Clive’s hands; the urgency of him and the heat everywhere. And then - oh! - the sharp spark of pleasure as he shifted up and their cocks slid together.  The hard length of him! He felt it everywhere. Clive could not - he could not stand it - could not breathe and kiss and feel that hot visceral pull and he broke the kiss, gasping. Theo shifted again, pushed up onto his elbows; eyes dark in the dim light, face a breath away from Clive’s as he moved, moved, finding a rhythm. Clive was moving with him, impossible not to, hands slipping on the sweat on Theo’s body, touching him almost blindly, anything for contact, for more skin under his palms. There was no sound but the harshness of breath and the slide of skin on skin. Theo dipped his head and kissed Clive again, as if it were impossible not to. Oh the feel of it, the soft wet heat of it, and the strength of Theo over him, and the slide of them together. Theo’s mouth! Clive swept an arm up Theo’s back to clasp the back of his neck, to pull Theo’s mouth more firmly against his; and Theo followed, fiercely; and they stuttered out of rhythm in their urgency. Theo made a desperate noise into Clive’s mouth and broke the kiss, shifting, shifting, searching to regain the pleasure. He looked at Clive, eyes fixed on his, moving against him still, and  Clive had never seen such a look of desire and - yes, he would think it - _love_ on another’s face. Oh! - that he was the cause. Oh Clive would not survive this. Not this time, not now he could see Theo’s face. This was worse, and better - a thousand times better - than before, when it had been pitch darkness and only sensation and the newly familiar scent of the warmth of Theo’s skin. He was moving without thought, now; hands smoothing down Theo’s back, over the glorious swell of his backside, grasping firmly, urging him on and - oh! - yes, there, that was it, that friction and slide of their cocks together, that was perfect. He moved with Theo, finding a harder rhythm, panting hot breath against Theo’s face. Oh to stay in this moment! 

“Clive - ” Theo panted out, and - oh! the sound of it! He sounded destroyed. To think that he was the cause! It was almost too much. “Clive, ich - ” and Clive could barely think, but the urgency in Theo’s voice cut through the fog of his pleasure. It was too soon!

“Not yet, not - ” he panted out. “Please, not yet - ” and he knew it was an awful thing to say, but he did not want an end to it. He was close himself, the heat sweeping through him, the broken sound of Theo saying his name, the sweaty, stuttery slide of him. Theo looked at him ruefully, face shining, slowing the pace a little. Oh, that was - no he wanted more! But he wanted no end.  Clive laughed at his own contradiction, and looked at Theo through his daze, and then they were laughing together at their desperation.   

“Theo - ” and he sounded just as destroyed. “Oh - ” and Theo was moving faster now, still smiling, thrusting harder against Clive, breath ragged, and Clive was holding on desperately, meeting him with equal strength. Theo dropped his head to Clive’s shoulder, back tensing.

“Theo - ” Clive panted into his ear, feeling him close and desperate, feeling himself not far behind, “Theo - yes - yes - that’s it - ” and then Theo was cursing into his ear, and coming hot and slick against his belly, shuddering against him, clinging on so tightly. The sound of him! And the feel of him, as if he were branded onto Clive’s skin. He stilled for a final moment, and then collapsed onto Clive, panting harshly and burrowing his face into Clive’s neck, trapping Clive’s cock between their bellies.  It was lovely, it was a blissful feeling, but it was not enough. Clive could feel his own urgency, realised he was still moving, slick and tight in the heat between them. Theo raised his head and kissed Clive, soft but fierce, and Clive felt his desire kick anew. He heaved up and rolled Theo onto his back, surging over him, still kissing him, still touching him wherever he could. Theo’s arms came around him, smoothed down his sides, hot and sure, and then they were on his backside, urging him on as he thrust into the heat of Theo’s skin, against the mess on his firm belly, wet and lovely, and the heat of his mouth, wet and lovely too, and Clive felt - oh - oh - he had to break the kiss to breathe, to gulp in great gasps of air and he was coming,  thrusting hard against Theo, with Theo’s hands hard on him, until he was wrung out, spent, collapsing onto Theo’s chest, panting in his ear. 

 

They lay there for how long Clive did not know; breathing slowing and hearts calming until Clive realised they were breathing in tandem. It would be glorious to stay like this forever, but he was too warm, and sticky, and aware that Theo must be getting uncomfortable beneath him. 

He rolled off reluctantly, reaching blindly towards the bedside cabinet for a handkerchief to clean them. Theo lay drowsily under his ministrations, flushed and languorous. He propped a hand behind his head to better observe Clive. 

“Das ist meines!” 19 he said, indicating the handkerchief.  

“I know. Why d’ye think I’m using it?” and Clive could not dodge the slap to the flank he got for that. “There’s half a dozen of yours here. You keep leaving them.”

“Ja.” and - did he look _embarrassed?_ “So I have excuse. Zurückzukommen. Come back.”

Clive looked at him incredulously. As if Theo ever needed an excuse!

“That makes you sound terrifically like a girl, old man!” he could not resist saying. He dropped the handkerchief as Theo came at him, mock-outraged. His grasp of English had certainly improved over the weeks. They wrestled playfully for a minute before collapsing onto their sides, facing each other. Theo was stroking a hand along Clive’s side, as if unwilling to let go completely. Clive leaned forward and kissed him softly, overcome for a moment with a great suffusion of love, and a joy in the freedom to act on it. Theo’s hand came up to cradle Clive’s head gently, fingers soft in his hair.  Oh, that such a simple thing could feel so lovely. He wished that Theo did not still have his bandage, wished he could reciprocate and feel Theo’s hair soft through his fingers. It was a minor miracle that the bandage had survived intact. That would have been difficult to explain to the nurses. Oh! He would not think of that yet. They had some little time left before that. 

“Clive - ” Theo murmured against his mouth. Clive quieted him with another kiss. “Clive - ” Theo tried again, pulling away slightly, determined to speak. Clive lay back and looked at him. He looked terribly serious. For a childish moment Clive wanted to stop him speaking, wanted to hide a while yet. But no. 

“Clive. Du weißt. You know. This is different. Ja? _Us._ Not like - ” he paused, and made a gesture that somehow encompassed all the stolen moments Clive had ever had with boys and men. Clive looked at him, breathless, waiting for him to continue. 

 “Ich fühle - feel - mein Herz - heart - ” and here he put his palm flat over Clive’s own skittering heart. “Ich denke - I think - you also, ja?”

Clive nodded, shakily. Oh yes! He had hoped - but he had thought they would not speak of it. Theo was - always was - braver than he.     

“Yes. Yes.” And he did the same, close in the confines of the bed. “I feel the same. Mein Herz.” 

“But. Es ist nicht - not - möglich. Not to be. Die Welt - the world - ” 20 and in that was all the sorrow in Clive’s heart. 

“I know. The world - ” But, oh. Let them not dwell. “But now, it is just us. For a little while longer. You and me. That is enough.”

“You. Und me. Enough. Ja. Yes.” And Theo smiled again, the serious look falling away. Clive leaned forward to kiss him but Theo stopped him with two fingers against his lips.

“Clive. Was auch immer - whatever. You und me. Wie wir gesagt haben - we say - Freunde für immer. Yes?”21

Yes. Yes. They had said it last night, and Clive realised it was the same. He had felt the same love for Theo then as he did now. He could not foresee a time when that was not true. 

“Yes, Theo. You and me. Freunde für immer.” and Theo smiled, and Clive smiled back, and they were kissing again, moving together, hot and strong up against each other, kissing the world away for the little time they had left. 

 

* * * * * * *

 

He had fallen asleep on the train, which was hardly surprising. And had been jolted awake at some station in the middle of nowhere. For a confused moment his mind had been blissfully blank; then everything  had rushed back in - a torrent of jumbled sensations and emotions, and it had been all he could do not to cry. 

He would never quite know how he had got through the journey. The boat, and then another train, endless, endless, and now when all he wanted to do was bury himself away and sleep here he was at HQ getting a dressing down like a naughty schoolboy. He wanted to stamp his foot like a child and just for once, for _once_ in this awful day rail at the unfairness of it all. 

“You spend all your leave in a nursing home, full of foreigners. You cost the Treasury a lot of money. You make the Foreign Office very cross. And what do you get for it? Your beauty’s spoilt. You weren’t any fashion plate before. I’d be surprised if any woman would look twice at you now.”

“So would I, sir.” As if he cared a jot about that. But he knew the script here only too well. Contrition was called for. Let Betteridge rumble on for a while. He was too tired to speak up for himself. Too tired and frankly too heartsore, and it would do no good in the end. And what would he say? That even now, it had been worth it, because of Theo? He glanced at the clock. Three. It would be afternoon rounds, now, in the hospital. Theo would likely be in the gardens, taking his usual stroll. Without Clive, now. Would Edith be with him instead? Would they be talking about Clive? Would Theo falter at all, if they were? Or had he his lines down pat? No, that was unkind, to both of them. Theo was doing what he must, and he _was_ fond of Edith. Edith’s happiness, that was what mattered.  Lord, what was Betteridge on about now?

“ - you go barging in on this nonsense and you come pretty near to getting yourself kicked out. You don’t want to get yourself kicked out, do you?”

“No, sir.” No. In all truth, it would be a relief to get back to it, to the familiar routines and surroundings.  Somewhere he didn’t have time to think about things. He was shamefully glad, now, that he had used all his leave up in Germany. It would be an unshakeable reason to decline the wedding invitation. Theo would understand, even if Edith couldn’t. And he loved them dearly, but he could not have borne it. 

“ - keep cool. Keep your mouth shut. And avoid politics like the plague. That’s the way to get on in the Army.”

“Thank you, sir.” And thank God, Betteridge had finally run out of steam. 

“Care to dine at my club tonight?”

“Sorry, sir, I’m taking someone to the theatre.”

He had arranged it in a daze, and he could not back out now. And Miss Hunter would want news of Edith, which he had promised to deliver. It would be a distraction, at least.

“Pretty?”

“I haven’t met her yet, sir.”

If she were half as pretty and half as spirited as Edith, she would be a fine girl. But sisters were rarely alike, were they?

“You’re still a bit cracked, my boy. Well, I hope you improve as you get older. Well, cheer up old boy.”

“Yes, sir.” 

He supposed he was a bit cracked, but not in the way Betteridge thought. Cracked down the middle. Theo had split him open and all the joy and happiness had come spilling out. And now he would have to patch it back up. It could be done. 

He took his leave from Betteridge and stepped out into the noise and bustle of London. He would go to his club and wash and dress. He would groom his moustache, tuck a handkerchief into his pocket, select a buttonhole, and he would take Miss Hunter to the theatre. He would not think of Berlin, and he would not think of the hospital, and he would not think of Theo. He was home, now. He must remember that. England was home. He would tell himself that every day, and one day - one day it would again be true.

 

 * * * * * * *

 

Translations:

 

1 "Clive, my friend she is, has always been so! At least with you. Have you not seen?" 

2  "Always the same, Clive. Always you - "he broke off, frustrated" how you say - knock yourself? Don't. Any woman would be - happy - lucky, to be with you."

3 "What is it, my friend?'

4 "Clive, my dear friend, yes. You, me, friends always." 

5 "Clive! The bell! Must I go?"

6 "No, no, I'm asking you. Must I go?"

7 "Mr. Candy! Again! With a cigarette! No cigarettes in bed! "

8 "Can I come out?'

9 "My boots! Ah, my friend, it is a trick! You - you steal! "

10 Does it hurt?

11 I must tell you something -

12 The light!

13  Forgive me, Clive. I did not want - 

14 "Yes." Theo said. "I understand. Yes. I thought - I think - so."

15 Something more.

16 What time is it?

17 I did not want to fall asleep.

18 Oh, Clive. If we had time. To tell the world  - come back tomorrow. Or next week. Or - never.

19 That's mine!

20 But. It is not - possible. The world -

21  Clive. Whatever. You and me. As we said - friends always. Yes?

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks as ever to **jennytheshipper** for her sterling beta work, endless discussions, finding nice ways to say 'uh, no, that's wrong' and general all round greatness, and to **tea-with-theo** for making Theo's German much better than mine, and flailing nicely about all my favourite bits of the boys. 
> 
> There is actual dialogue from the film/script in this, which of course is Emeric's, and as such much better than mine, however much I cursed him for making it hard to fit my headcanon around it sometimes. 
> 
> While I hopefully haven't nicked anything too outrageously, there may be (un)conscious nods to quite a few influences: Forster, Coward, half the poetry ever published in the English language (but especially Donne, Moore and Shakespeare) and, um, Belle and Sebastian.


End file.
